me from the cover. “I told you they were gorgeous, Em. And tough, too. I tell you what, they could hold their own with any one of these mobster men.”
“Mom! I’m so glad you’re alright.” Lexi rushes to her bedside, hugging her and kissing her cheek.
I go to the other side of the bed. Her hand feels a little cold and when I kiss her, her cheek is warmer than last time, but other than that, she seems fine. “The nurse told us you were trying to recruit some romance readers in here.”
My mom nods. “Yep. I tell you what. These books get a bad rap but there’s a lot of heart and soul in here. And my goodness, the men are hot.” She fans herself with the book.
Emmie laughs. “Alright girls, I’ll let you visit.”
The nurse goes to leave, but my mom calls out to stop her. “Hang on a second, Em.” She holds up the book. Gabriel’s black and white eyes stare right into mine. “I saved the best part for when my Miranda was here.”
Emmie smiles. “Oh, yeah? What’s that, hon?”
My mom waves the book, her fingers hovering right to Gabriel’s perfect nose. “That’s Miranda’s man on the cover. He’s a model.”
“Lucky girl.” The nurse gives me a wink that says she’s playing along, a nice way of telling me that she knows my mother suffers from dementia. “He’s a looker.”
I don’t bother to clarify the truth. Am I dating this man? Because I honestly don’t even know for sure if I am...
She leaves and Lexi and I pull up chairs by my mother's bedside. As we chat, my fears and worries dissolve. Mom not only seems fine, she seems more lucid than usual.
A half hour later, there’s a knock on the open door. The rustling of takeout bags. Emmie’s voice, full of surprise. “Well hot damn, Ms. Montague, if he isn’t just as real as you said he was.”
I look over my shoulder. Gabriel stands, filling the doorway, his hands full of the handles of takeout bags. There must be enough food for fifty people in those carryouts. He gives me a guilty shrug. “I got Italian, but didn’t know what you’d be in the mood for.”
Emmie gives a hoot. “Gorgeous and feeds a woman, too? I tell you this man is too good to be true.”
I cringe at the words. Too good to be true. Too good to be true. The phrase repeats, intrusive and ugly.
Lexi flies up from her seat, rushing over and taking the bags from him, the scent of garlic and tomatoes filling the room. She looks pointedly at Emmie. “Yeah—something like that.” Then leaves him without a thank you.
Emmie gives Lexi a disapproving look, and leaves, mumbling, “If that were my man…”
He stands there, empty handed. Gazing at me. I stand from my seat and walk over to him. I’m not sure what to say, so I land on thanking him. “Gabriel. Thank you. For everything.”
He leans down, kissing my cheek. “If you need anything, I’m only a phone call away.”
My throat feels tight, and my eyes burn. I’m afraid I’ll cry again, so I give him a silent nod and turn to go back to my mother and sister.
He stops me, grabbing my hand, and pulls me into him. His mouth is by my ear, his breath rustling my hair. I can smell his scent—clean and masculine and familiar. “Miranda. I am so. So. Sorry.”
He releases me. Kisses my forehead fiercely. Then he’s gone, leaving me breathless, the scent of his cologne lingering in the air. I want to go after him. I want to tell him to come back. But a part of me’s afraid to do that, to let myself get hurt again.
I’m shaking when I return to my family, taking the styrofoam takeout tray my sister hands me. I open the lid. Chicken Marsala. One of my absolute favorites. I wonder how he knew… my spine stiffens.
He knew everything.
Lexi dives into a chicken parm she dug out of one of the big brown paper bags. “Good riddance.” She gives a sniff.
Her harsh words make me bristle. I defend him, anger laced in my words. “You say that, but when Mom needed help, who was there for us? And when you needed nothing more than to get out of California, who sent you a private jet? And then when Mom needed us again, who made it happen?”
She gives me a guilty roll of her eyes. She knows she’s